


We Built This City On Broken Shells

by alicechugstea



Series: Burning Bright [2]
Category: Beelzebub (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angel!Furuichi, Gen, M/M, Pillar squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicechugstea/pseuds/alicechugstea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This new relationship was like crawling on glass and trying to get sliced, as opposed to ripped open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes I Feel Like I Was Born To Lose

**Author's Note:**

> This'll be a four-part series that sits between "And Fire Comes Bearing Forth" and "i'm just looking for an angel with a broken wing" but it can be read by itself. Again, slightly different writing style, and probably different writing styles throughout the whole work.... Hahaha....

Furuichi Takayuki was a ball of contradictions and sheer absurdity packed tightly in a thin, human shell.

What little knowledge he had of Angels was vague and distant; painting images of powerfully bright winged beings that would set him alight with a thought, or rotating circles of fire looking upon the world with a huge, unblinking eye.

There was simply no reaction within him to foster as he steadily walked to a weeping Furuichi, clawing within the confines of his make shift cage on the rooftop of the school. The silver haired brat, barely twitching when he was forcibly pulled away just hours before, was now a creature even older than the Demon King himself. 

Four wings. Four white, glorious wings. Four wings implied the status of Cherubim, the first sphere. One rank down from the seraphim, with their six wings. Two ranks down from the Archangels, and yet still capable of bringing down divine punishment and annihilating every single resident in a five kilometre radius.

Hecadoth stopped short of the barrier. It was time to gauge the situation, process the information, and act accordingly, diligently and effectively. The heavy gazes of the others rested on his back, with the demon boy’s being the most intense. Hecadoth scoffed and squeezed his crossed arms, before carefully taking a step into the barrier, trying to ignore the soft wet wheezes from the seemingly grossly warped body before him, trying to ignore the matted silver hair, trying to ignore the electrifying flicker across his exposed skin, trying to ignore the suffocating heat of the wings, and desperately, desperately trying to avoid meeting the watery gaze with his own eyes.

The sun was high and glorious, nearly midday. Evacuation of all irrelevant and injured personnel had been completed successfully. The potential threat contained. Agiel stood several paces back, always at the ready. A silent countdown began in his head. How long before they noticed? How long before they arrived? How long before they took him away?

He stiffened up and soon his whole body passed through the barrier, standing just before Furuichi. Chewing his bottom lip, he breathed out the tremor in his throat, and said “Tactician.”

A resounding, wet hack greeted him. “..He-hecadoth?”

Hecadoth sucked in a breath and cast his eyes down. “We need to have a little chat.”

Do you know what happened?

_No._

_What,_

_What the hell is this?_

_What’s going to happen? Hecadoth?_

_Where is everyone? Where’s, where’s Oga, and Hilda, and_

_Am I_

_Am I going to-_

_Shit, shit I nearly killed-_

_I fucking nearly died and got everyone killed and then this happens and then nearly killed Oga and-_

No! …We have a plan. 

_Plan?_

Yes, we do. 

_…There’s a plan. A plan. Okay. Okay…_

Furuichi. I need you to listen to me- hey, hey! Keep your head up, here, face me. Look at me. Listen. Okay? Okay. Focus. Give me your hand, now listen. 

This is what you are now. There’s no changing it. No going back. Do you understand? I need you to understand. Nod if you get it, just once. Here. Just once. Do you get what I’m saying? 

Good. 

Chances are they’d have noticed already. They’ll look for you. That’s not what we want. That is not what you want, do you understand? Do you understand that? They’ll take you away, and they’ll mess around in your insides, because this is something that shouldn’t have happened. Okay? Okay. 

You’re coming with us. 

_Us?_

You’re coming with us. You’re going to stay with us, for at least a month. 

No, it’s what we need to do. Tactician. Tactician. Furuichi. Listen to me. Understand this, your body will still be here, it is your soul that’s coming with us. Okay? Squeeze my hand if you understand. I need you to understand. Good. Okay. 

Your body will be placed in the local hospital, in a VIP room. That way, no one will be able to access your room without one of the pillars, or your group, being notified. You will be in a coma the duration of the time you are with me. Do you understand so far? Do not worry about the expenses. Do not worry about your family. Do not worry about the absurdity of the plan. It will be fine. Your little friends are aware of the situation and have agreed, albeit with some hesitation. 

Now breathe, breathe through your nose. Out through your mouth. 

_…Ah, Agiel?_

Yes, Agiel’s here. We’re going to move you now, out of the barriers. Promise me you won’t try to run, okay? Good, good. You, girl with the wavy hair, come here. Demon brat, go around the other side. Be gentle. Any sudden moves and your hands will be sliced clean off by those wings. Got it? 

_…Seriously, how the fuck is this my life?_

You’re really asking me that question? Now, in three, two, one… 


	2. i only feel like i was born to lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hecadoth learns how to raise a new-born Angel with all its righteous fury and crippling empathy.

Dealing with a new born Angel was kind of like…well, dealing with a new born Angel.

Never mind the fact that hardly anyone in the Pillar Squad were proper parents in the first place, but Behemoth had found it hilarious to place Hecadoth in charge of Furuichi, theorizing that what Furuichi really needed was a lesson in power control and bringing his physical state up to match, and then gleefully concluding that as a _Pillar General_ and the one who had _the most experience in fighting side by side with Furubaby_ , he would be the one most suitable to deal with whatever righteous shenanigans blew out the windows at three am in the morning.

Case in point, Hecadoth was now tackling the challenge of an accidentally invisible Furuichi.

“Alright,” Hecadoth said as he cradled his forehead in his hands. “Start from the beginning.”

Furuichi made a soft rustling sound before saying “I woke up, went to the bathroom, and couldn’t see myself in the mirror… And I tried to get someone’s attention, but nobody could see me.”

“Not even us demons?”

“Obviously! I tried to get Laymia’s attention and before I knew it, I was in the ladies washroom and stools and bottles and all sorts of crap were getting thrown at me because one of them thought they could feel a really ‘creepy and perverted presence.’”

Hecadoth pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Then I ploughed straight into Naga when I ran out and he nearly summoned Barakeil on my ass…I mean he didn’t, but he still got a lucky kick in.”

“Is that why I can see a floating streak of blood?”

Said streak wobbled. Hecadoth let out a heavy sigh and gentle rubbed his temples. Only a week in, and he’d already had to deal with fits of random teleportation that once landed the kid naked in the middle of the Pillar Baron’s monthly staff meeting, attempting to figure out the boundaries surrounding Furuichi’s newfound monstrous strength, cleaning up the glass from the broken windows when the brat unleashed a wave of holy fire in his sleep, and now this?

“And then Agiel found me…” The streak wobbled even more intensely as he recalled the gleam of her glasses and the glint of her smile, hands twitching as they slowly reached out towards his general direction before he ran away screeching like a little bitch.

Hecadoth chewed his bottom lip and sighed heavily. “We’ll just wait it out, and hopefully it’ll stabilise by itself. Are you even wearing clothes? Wait, no. I don’t want to know, don’t say anything, just-“ He unravelled his long outer coat and threw it at Furuichi, where it settled down into a soft black blob of a shape.

He roughly ran a hand through his hair. “Keep the coat on and go talk to Quetzalcoatl, sounds like something that freak clown would know about, alright?”

The black coat shook, followed by a meek nod. Hecadoth made a mental note to never, ever have little brats of his own.

************

And so that was how the days passed. Managing the tiny, day to day, inconveniences of flaring wings whenever something truly absurd made Furuichi howl insults at the top of his lungs, or when his holy fire became a little too enthusiastic and attempted to incinerate Hecadoth now and then, or even writing a schedule of when he could practice his exorcisms without murdering everyone in the damn building.

The accelerated healing and subsequent healing powers were an unexpected bonus though, as they proved indiscriminative of whom he touched. Thus, Behemoth eagerly employed Furuichi’s newfound aptitude in sealing gaping flesh wounds and mending broken limbs in the field, much to his chagrin. When Jabberwock was shoved over to Furuichi with both arms held together by emergency duct tape, oh boy…

Agiel began alternating between calling him “Heca-chan~” and “Papa-chan~” which sent both him and Furuichi on a rampage, chasing her mini-skirt clad ass around headquarters and nearly taking out the shared kitchen as she cackled like the goddamn witch she was. Slowly, but surely, kind of like an insistent parasite nobody could ever really shake off, Furuichi’s routine shaking presence began to ooze into their lives.

Except, no one forgets why the white haired winged boy roams their corridors, and they certainly don’t forget what he is capable of. His heart beats like a galloping horse, hotter than a raging furnace. When his blood is spilt there is a suffocating, intoxicating scent that wraps them in its sweltering arms, where each morning guard duty doubles and the number of rotation around the perimeter are tripled, and that rare, frightening, horrifying occasion when Furuichi had finally decided that he’d been at the back for too long and entered the fray, eyes glowing with pure, white light, and his wings, his wings stretched to their fullest length, sharply whispering and rustling, framing the General as he glided head on into a furious bloodbath.

Hecadoth is first and foremost, a soldier, a warrior, and he never forgets what Furuichi has become.

_They_ will not let Furuichi forget it either.

There is a new ability that comes with all the crazy batshit that goes on within their walls, and perhaps the main reason why he needs to stay with them, where they have reinforced jail cells deep underground with narrow passages and countless guards.

One night, after leaving an impromptu party and getting the hell out when Graphel had one too many brandies and started his drunken bemoaning over Yata, Hecadoth arrived to a thrashing, blubbering Furuichi, stumbling over the table and nearly tripping through the door. Hecadoth inhaled sharply and dropped to his knees, just managing to shove his hand underneath his head before it slammed into the floor. The sleeves of his pyjamas were ripped to shreds, and huge, red welts littered the pale skin.

“What the hell’s going o-“ Furuichi ripped his head from Hecadoth’s grasp with a huge gasp and he struggled to retain his hold on the flailing body. His face was soaked from the constant overflow of thick, heavy tears, eyes already swollen like pink cotton balls from the extent of his sobbing.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ -“ One white wing flung itself out unexpectedly, nearly clocking Hecadoth in the face as it hit the floor and flipped the coffee table over, feathers flying everywhere as if someone was yanking them by the fistful. Furuichi began clawing at his arms again, and at his neck, and something in Hecadoth clicked before he rolled forward and pinned Furuichi underneath him, making sure his arms were locked against his sides.

“Can you stop, for a second! And _explain!_ “All he received was sickly, wet noises as Furuichi panted at the ceiling. “You, don’t test me, because I will break your face-“ Hecadoth grunted as Furuichi attempted to throw him off with a snap of his body. “Idiot, stop, I said, _calm down!_ ” He pulled his head back, ready to give him a headbutt and hopefully knock his brain back into some sort of reasonable functioning order before Furuichi finally began to vomit out words. 

“I wuz, I wuz _shot! I wuz fuckin’ shot an_ ’” he coughed on his spittle and continued on weakly when Hecadoth tightened his grip and growled “Idiot! Nothing’s happened-”

“ _No_ , I wuz shot! I can feel it, it’s, I, I wuz someon’ else and they, they had a gun, a pis-pistol and-“ he sucked in a harsh breath and tensed before continuing his rasping into Hecadoth’s ear. “They had, it was, they were alone, in ther room, and, I could feel duh gun, it wuz so heavy an’, I heard the _click_ when they loaded it, and I wanted to fly, I wanted to go to ‘em-“

Hecadoth squashed down the rolling waves of uncertainty and panic within him as Furuichi became more hysterical. His throat went dry as his stumbled around his words. “Look, tactician, you’re just hallucinating. It’s not real, you haven’t been shot. Take a deep breath and-“

Furuichi cut him off with a harsh wheeze.

“Name was Takao, I ‘hink, and twenty-two, an’ he was gonna finish, finish his degree at the end of semester, but he couldn’t, and it was sunny, spring, spring morning, but somethin’, something happened and-“

Hecadoth grunted and rolled over, so that they were lying on their sides and his weight wasn’t pushing down on Furuichi’s chest. The window in his room had been eased up halfway, and a bitter breeze swirled around the room, making the curtains sway and float, almost tauntingly.

He swallowed hard, but he kept the tight grip on Furuichi’s convulsing body and just waited.

“I couldn’t get to him, and I wanted to, but I just couldn’t, and I felt-I felt everything, in and out of his head and during the moment and right down to, to the the, the details. He left all his stuff for his sister, and his mum, he left, there was a note, and it had been planned for weeks and, oh my god, _oh my god, Hecadoth, I felt the fucking bullet go straight through my goddamn skull._ ”

Hecadoth felt the wet sticky press of a face against his neck, and just waited it out.

“Shit, where did I go wrong? What did I do wrong? I can heal and stitch severed body parts together, but I, but I can’t even pull through when I’m the only one capable-shit.”

Furuichi stiffened, but kept the tiny tremors running through his body. Small rivets of blood from his armed stained Hecadoth’s coat and Furuichi’s shirt lightly, as if tiny, pale red flowers had grown along their body. He weakly gripped Hecadoth’s shoulder and carefully exhaled, tears still tricking down his flushed face, trying to suppress the heat within his chest, although it singed the front of Hecadoth’s coat.

“Shit. Fuck. Balls. Damnit! Why is it always me? _Why is it always me?_ ”

Hecadoth pulled Furuichi closer, stubbornly ignored the constricting sensation in his throat and managed no words.

*********

In the days following from that incident, Furuichi will have moments where he completely stops whatever it is he’s doing, and his mind just goes blank. His eyes glaze over, his shoulders drop, a soft sigh escapes, and his wings unfurl and hang delicately around him, like glass chandeliers. Then, his mouth will move, mouthing coordinates and names and times in all sorts of languages, both too slow and too fast for anyone to really decipher. That’s when things slows down, and turn a watchful eye – sometimes something in his head shatters and he’ll slams against the floor, massive spurts of holy fire already dancing around uncontrollably before his huge wings attempt to achieve lift off to catapult him like a laser lined bullet to some unknown place.

That’s when the self-loathing and the tears and the clawing start. That’s when Hecadoth has to hold him tight in the cage of his arms, clasping his body to him, and waits until Furuichi finally breathes normally and falls into a fitful sleep. Agiel will also be there, and she’ll take up the role when Hecadoth can’t take the burning any longer. 

Sometimes, he does the exact opposite, and during these moments, the words righteous, ruthless and fierce manifest. That’s when Salamander and Yata themselves have to wrestle him down to a jail cell, deep underneath the grounds, and bind him down to the floor, chains and shackles and ropes and seals and spells over every joint in his body so that he doesn’t snap his bones in his attempts to gouge his own eyes out, rip his own heart out, set his whole body alight.

Hecadoth is never there when Furuichi spits and howls at them, thundering with archaic slurring, overlapped until it becomes one penetrating voice.

_Worthless, demon scum! We will skin each and every single one of you until your blood stains each of our feathers, where your blood will feed the strength of our fires, where your blood will be your sin repaid!_

Hecadoth is never there, for Furuichi looks at him with nothing but utter, livid contempt.

But Furuichi roams for a reason, and Hecadoth has been put in charge of his very soul. He will not stop, until they achieve their goals, for he is a soldier and soldiers keep fighting. 

**********

One month bleeds into two. Two splinters, and morphs into three.

One is the stained snow of winter. One is when only a few of them will address him directly. One is when he flaps his wings awkwardly and wobbles like a baby chick. One is when his name is “Brat.”

Two is shared table space at lunch time. Two is glorious battles, and stitched skin. Two is soothing light. Two is General.

Three finally melts, and it seeps through the Pillar Squad’s clothes, into their skin, into their veins. Three reaches their heart, twirls gently, and settles down for the rest of their days. Three marks the end.

Three is almost their end, and his goodbye. His goodbye is a lightly roughed up face, a bandaid on his cheek, toothy smile stretched from eye to eye, and standing in front of the portal. Draped across his shoulders is the coat he nearly died in, washed thoroughly and painstakingly patched. Ageil is cheering, tears building in the corners of her eyes as she picks up Furuichi with a shriek and squishes his face into her chest. Furuichi hangs limp and marvels, as if all his dreams have suddenly come true. Naga stutters, coughs into his fist before loudly declaring that he’s finally become a true man and shed the sissy façade, before turning away abruptly. Behemoth has a shit eating grin, somehow a perfect match for the bright orange and green tee-shirt he has on. Even Jabberwock, all doom and gloom and massive statue, eagerly makes the suggestion of an all-out battle between him and Furuichi someday. Hecadoth stands behind him, peering into the portal with a raised brow.

Furuichi hastily steps back with a nervous laugh, before grabbing a small bag and a new trench coat, slinging it over his shoulders, on top of his other one. This coat is black and has a high collar, with shiny new tags sitting on its shoulders. It flutters wild and wide as he bows straight and low, snapping back with a strong “Thank you very much for having me!” And with that, he turns to face the portal with Hecadoth, before casting one last quick look over his shoulders and yelling out “See you all soon!”

Three marks the pleasant scent of spring, flowers unfurling into new life, the outbreak of a second chance blooming thick under the warmth of the sun.

Three is Furuichi Takayuki.


	3. i know my own voice. it is a voice of pain and victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furuichi's temporary absence in the Human World is difficult. Somethings are revealed and re-evaluated, and Oga is forced to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! It takes place in the same time frame as chapter two, just a different perspective.  
> Took a very long time to get through this, but thanks to wonderful, wonderful friends on Tumblr who supported me the whole way, I'm finally happy with it. 
> 
> Slight OgaFuru, but some what possible to overlook, I think... 
> 
> Listened to Birdy's "Wings" to manage the end. Please enjoy and/or leave a comment! Would love to know how you felt about this chapter. As always, everything can be read as a stand alone fic.

_“That’s a stupid fucking idea! I won’t let you bitches take him!”_

_“Do you really think we have a choice, shitty brat?”_

_Seething. Red. Blurred vision. The beating hot sun. A limp body with heavy wings._

_“I’m only going to explain this to you once, and once only. Accept it, or face a cross-dimensional war that will surely obliterate all of you.” Hecadoth. Steel, cold, piercing eyes, talking to a child throwing a tantrum. Trails of blood sprawled over his white coat, like veins pulsing in time to the frantic drumming building in Oga’s chest._

_“His soul is coming with us. As of now, he’s a huge honing signal for Angelic intervention and with his soul as it is, I can’t guarantee it won’t burst at the seams and turn into one nuclear explosion if we leave him here. He’ll be in hiding, and we’ll get him stronger. In the meantime, a team of us will remain behind in your world, monitoring his process at the local hospital.”_

_Hecadoth paused and the tightness around his eyes eased a fraction._

_“He’ll be in a coma for, at minimum, one month.”_

_He abruptly turns towards the others with a flare of his coat and watches with a cool eye as two of his squad members carefully wrap and lift Furuichi towards the temporary portal they had set up, ignoring Oga’s fallen position on his hands and knees._

_“One month, then you can start praying.”_

_A flash of light, a series of yelled commands, the faint smell of blood and gunpowder, and they were gone. His throat seized up as his eyes widened with a harsh gasp and he hastily slammed a hand to his mouth, trying in vain to keep the bile down, spittle escaping, tears escaping._

_Gone._

_Gone._

_The sun smolders against the sky, a picturesque blue and white. Oga chokes and it all comes up in unrelenting heaves._

_Furuichi is gone._

***** 

White floors and white walls. White curtains and white sheets. White hair and white skin, edges blurred into the white of the bed.

A snow field of white, distorting his vision, draining all the energy away from him, making his bones heavy, and his body cold, and his ears filled with an unacceptable silence.

Oga focuses on the taunt face, the closed eyes, the bony fingers and the withered frame and tries to will colour to bloom under the starchy skin. He hates the frail canvas in front of him, fraying away slowly.

White. Devoid of colour. Devoid of life.

As if the world is mocking his belated realization, the clock clicks over to the next hour with an echo, and Oga has never felt the burden of time so much as now.

The routine nurse shuffles in quietly, and hesitantly asks him to step away from the bed. Oga unfurls his tight grip from the siderails and stiffly stands up from the hard plastic chair. With that, he grabs his bag and stalks out the door, not saying a single word.

A soft breeze through the normally shut window runs its fingers through Furuichi’s freshly combed hair.

It’s the second day into the second month.

*****

Furuichi’s absence wears away at him, like a parasite on his flesh, like a tumour in the lungs, like the stripping of skin from his body.

It starts off simple enough.

Oga is the one to break the news. Head low in Furuichi’s living room, Aoi wavering in concern behind him, Tojou dead silent for once, Kanzaki kneeling outside, Himekawa missing as per usual.

_“…Sorry, I didn’t make it in time.”_

He can feel Honoka’s feeble slap across his face days afterwards. It marks him like a scar, and he shoulders it as he takes the walk to school alone. It may not be as cold as it was before, but Misaki insists he wears a scarf, along with an extra coat. He doesn’t have any of his own, so he uses one of Furuichi’s, one he’s been meaning to give back months ago but just never got around to. The scarf is long and wide, thickly knitted in shades of blue. It smells like something he can’t seem to remember, tastes like warm poison in his mouth, feels like a noose around his throat.

He wears it every day.

On a stale Saturday, he wakes up late morning with a yawn and a lazy scratch across his stomach, before blearily blinking at the Play Stephany 2 in the corner. A cat like grin stretches across his face, before he kicks off the sheets and rolls around, grabbing his phone and flipping it open. Oga hits the “1” and dials with practiced ease, letting the familiar call tone vibrate in his ear.

It’s when he hears “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of one Furuichi Takayuki. Clearly, I’m not here right now, you know what to do! Except for you Oga, don’t you dare leave me anything!” for the fourth time that he finally stops.

Oga doesn’t move till late afternoon. 

He buys the latest volumes of Jump! and doesn’t give them a second glance. They sit in a small stack on the living room table, which he never touches. His family chooses to ignore it.

Arguments erupt more frequently. It’s like someone’s turned the fire up underneath a steaming pot, prompting more heated fistfights, more cuts and bruises, more broken bones. Aoi starts carrying an endless supply of bandages for the idiots who get too into it and throat soothers for herself, trying to dampen the croak in her throat from screeching “Cut it out!” and “Can’t you all just stop?” all day.

Himekawa learns fast to keep his distance from Oga and Takamiya carefully withdraws any attempts to make amends, for now. The last thing that any of them need is another lifeless body.

Accusations snap and fly. Rumours breed and thrive.

One unlucky first year lands in hospital for a dislocated jaw, broken arm, shattered knee and a massive head gash when he opens his fat mouth one dreary morning.

_“Ha! That shitty haired weakling finally kicked it, huh? Knew he didn’t have a place in Ishiyama, only the toughest of the tough can survive out here. It was bound to happen at some point!”_

Oga forces his way through it with his fists and glaring eyes, keeping his mouth shut and his heart tightly bound. Beel cries more often these days, fat rolling tears with the occasional violent zap of lighting, and Hilda tries her best to keep things for the young master running smoothly. The last of the demon tissues have been neatly pressed and tucked away into her small bag and she occasionally slaps her hands hard when the tremors get too distracting.

But when it feels like the floor beneath is crumbling unimaginably fast, you can only ignore it for so long.

*****

On Furuichi’s bedside, a glass vase is carefully filled with chrysanthemums, sunflowers, daisies and dandelions. It’s a mess of soft colours, vivid shades of yellows glowing by his side and it paints Furuichi’s skin with a golden hue, staining his cheekbones and lips. On each stem are tiny white slips of paper, tied with care, each scrawled with their own individual message. Nene had been the one to suggest and organize it.

The last daisy in Oga’s hands trembles, before he slips it into the vase. The white of the room slinks back, just an inch. The light shoves away the white, just a little bit.

But Furuichi is still unmoving and unresponsive, no matter how strong the glow by his side is. He checks his pockets for something more, something more to give, to try and entice Furuichi back to him, but sighs when all he finds is a clean packet of tissues and two dinner mints. He still puts it on the table. Just in case.

Furuichi is drenched in yellow and still faces towards the ceiling.

Oga shudders and he buries his head in his hands, tugging at his hair with a wince.

The clock continues to tic, tock, tic

tock

tic

tock

 

 

tic

The flowers flutter and petals begin to drop, lingering on the side of Furuichi’s bed, kissing his shoulders, neck and dancing across his chest, where the thick scars swathe his beating heart. Yshiel and Zela find him hours later, slumped into a tiny curve, calloused hands wrapped tightly around Furuichi’s left.

Each wrench of Oga’s heart is just a single note in the rise and crash of self-loathing and guilt, strangling him from the inside.

*****

The end of two months crawls closer.

Things get worse. Things get desperate.

Hilda and Lamia are making constant trips to the Demon Realm and back, scrounging for any information at to Furuichi’s status or even his location. Information is tight-lipped and the strain takes its toll. No one knows anything, and if they do, they’re unwilling to say it. Hilda takes it with a grain of salt and assumes the worst. 

Oga’s thoughts overflow and become invasive, torturous, never ending. He begins to trail off, slow down, shut down. Aoi frantically increases her attempts to get Oga to respond, to engage, to look at someone when they talk to him, but all he can think about is the rising sun and his single-minded preoccupation with some other bullshit at the most important time. If only he had stopped fucking around, if only he had kept track of the sky, if only he had thought about what was really at stake, if only he had finished it _sooner_ , if only he had fought back _earlier._

if only

if only

Those words sit in his mouth with a thick and bitter taste.

Hilda finally snaps one morning and punches him across the face with a thunderous snap, her voice laced with frustration and denial. “Get yourself together! Do you really think Furuichi would let his life go to waste if _this is the result of getting his heart ripped out?! I would never have thought you as someone so pathetically weak!”_

He can’t even think of a good excuse, because it’s true, and he tried to avoid it, tried to cover it up with the fresh stems of pink carnations and white chrysanthemums, but it’s a weed that drags him down and spits in his face. The backdrop of his failure is an inky black, tiny stars sewn into the fabric of the night, framing his sagging walk across an asphalt stage, harsh streetlights tracking his performance. Beel’s hands vainly attempt to keep him grounded, tiny pads of heat skimming the surface of his skull, but all he can feel is an aching, all-consuming numbness within him. Oga can sense it take form within him, curling lines flowing together, clinging to his insides like butchered moss, worming its way underneath his muscles and pulling them into the centre. Its teeth are rows upon rows of blades, gently nibbling away at him. His eyes are straining when he finally stops his shuffle and he leans against a cool telephone pole. Beel is feverish with worry, but all Oga is aware of is a voice he can’t hear and an absence at his side.

***** 

The next time he visits, there is a small disc player on the bedside table, piano keys lightly twinkling, interrupting the stiff silence of the room. The star shaped stickers plastered all over the top indicates that it’s Honoka’s. Honoka – when was the last time he saw her? 

He resumes his position in the hard plastic chair and welcomes it almost like a second home and begins talking.

“Ah, you know, Kuneida brought Kouta over the other day, so I grabbed Beel and we hung around the park for a bit. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how much those two have grown! Kanzaki could’ve brought the little Futaba brat over as well, but he had some other important shit to do.”

A cough and a scratch across his cheek. He swallows and continues.

“Misaki took my bike again ‘cause she’s in a bitchy mood. Something about something, I don’t really care.” Oga tilts his head to the side and lets out a sigh, crossing his arms. “Hilda’s cooking is still shit. Honestly, it’s a fate worse than death! Who the hell could eat that friking homemade chemical weapon?”

He goes still and tenses, crooked smile falling from his face.

“Stupid Furuichi…Everyone’s still waiting and it’s been two months already. What the hell are you doing? Come on, you’re damn strong, aren’t you?”

“Come home already, will ya?”

*****

_“I don’t know if he can take much more than this. It’s been too long already.”_

_“It’s been at least two months, hasn’t it? I overheard the nurses talking… the chances of Furuichi-kun waking up get lower and lower the longer it takes.”_

_“That loser brother of mine! What is he even doing at a time like this!”_

_“Now, now, Misaki… You know this’ll break him, it really will. Oh no no no, what are we going to do? What’s Tatsumi going to do?”_

_“I don’t know how much his family is going to hang on either. Isn’t that after four months of coma if it’s from brain damage, the chances of waking up are like, less than 15%?”_

_“Misaki, that’s not even taking into account the chances of full recovery…”_

_“….Why did he end up like that, again?”_

_“They said it was drug overdose, some kind of medication overdose, self-administered. But Furuichi-kun would never do something like that! I mean, I haven’t really seen him around a lot before all of this, so I can’t be sure, but we’ve known him for years!”_

_“Shit, I was over at theirs giving them that hamper you made, and Honoka-chan just lost it. All this stuff she had been keeping quiet about for so long just came spilling out. Apparently all the bandages from their medicine cabinet kept going missing, and she found a broken knife and a pair of scissors in the trash can once.”_

_“…Oh, oh no. I had no idea. And Honoka-chan was the only one who knew this? Oh poor, poor Honoka-chan. Ah, Misaki, pass me those dishes, please…”_

_“Yeah, ah whoops, here you go, Ma. Yeah, Mr and Mrs Furuichi nearly lost it themselves at that. I mean, they only recently just realized how weird it was that Furuichi’s draws started piling up with boxes full of painkillers and stuff, but they never had the chance to confront him about it back then ‘cause he was rarely home.”_

_“…Does Tatsumi know any of this?”_

_“I doubt it. I doubt he had any idea.”_

_He leans forward from his spot in the shadows, just beside the open doorway. Waves of nausea build and he tries to keep his harsh gasp as quiet as he can. The bloodied maw of his failure chatter with renewed fevour, sprouting numerous limbs and sinking their teeth in and cutting his insides into thin ribbons._

_Something cracks inside his head and he shoves off against the wall, feet pounding on the wooden hallway. A faint “Shit! Tatsumi? Tatsumi!” echoes behind him, but it barely reaches him._

_He’s out the door, nearly cartwheeling in his haste to get out, limbs flailing, head spinning, and eyes wide and disbelieving. His recites the mantra in his head. The coma is magically induced. Furuichi is fine. The coma is magically induced. Furuichi is fine. The coma is magically induced. Furuichi is fine. Furuichi is fine. Furuichi is fine. Furuichi is-_

_He staggers towards the hospital._

*****

He manages to make it just twenty minutes before visiting hours are over. What a sight he must be, panting in the lobby in grey sweat pants, a too tight shirt with Fool1 scrawled across it and a naked baby riding on his back. No one comments though, and a familiar nurse simply nods in his direction and turns back to her monitor, cradling the phone between her head and shoulder.

((the fucking room is still the same it’s an air bubble he can’t even look at it one look at it and he’ll pop it burst it and the soul inside will be gone and it’ll be because of him

he’ll never be good with golden words fists and fights is the only language he speaks and sometimes he knows when to say just the right thing but that moment is rare and almost impossible but he can’t help but think why he was never granted that skill

but if he talks with his fists then he composes with bruises and broken bones and he can speak fast and quick in the heat of a fight and he can sing the prologue of a hot blooded match so he knows physical pain physical pain is one of his sole guiding movements it’s the source of his youth

now it’s just fucking hilarious that he can’t even talk with the words he wrote not even with the sounds that his own brain created

now he’s lost that too and look at what its cost him look at what its cost him turned his language into a commodity that only some could use only some could have

and that just means he forgot his language was meant to be a tool for the most important thing to ask the one thing that person needed to hear

he can’t even do that with the one thing left that was truly his))

He’s scrambling towards the bed and grabbing one arm, turning it towards him, scanning the pallid skin, eyes locking unto the scars. Oga purses his lips and hastily reaches over to the other arm. It pleads the same story at him. He goes lower and lifts the hem of Furuchi’s shirt up, the rough cotton creasing in his hands, and notices with a grimace the same scars clawed across the tight stomach. He tries to overlook the tiny burns on the left side and gently runs a languid hand across the ethereal skin. He can feel that it’s smooth all over but can’t help but flinch every time his fingertips brush against the myriad of marks.

Oga can feel the air in his lungs build and his skin crawl, the sight before him marring his thoughts. Before he can stop himself, he’s leaning forward, hands quavering as they slide upwards and grasp Furuichi’s face, his heart thundering as he stares. When was the last time Furuichi didn’t have a bruise colouring his skin? Or dark circles underneath his eyes? Or even just a clean face, devoid of dried blood and smeared drool for more than just a day?

Oga’s body almost towers above Furuichi’s as he presses closer, tasting the artificially minty breath, his nose bumping. The fading skyline throws the room into a blaze of orange and blue shadows and he carefully, oh so carefully, presses his burning lips to the cool forehead, focusing his half lidded eyes on the lacklustre hair.

One question reverberates in his head as he ignores the onslaught of tears, wrapping his arms around Furuichi and pulling him in, trying to feel his heartbeat and align it with his own.

_Do you even want to come back?_


	4. am i not destroying my enemies when i make friends of them?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it wasn't such a good thing that Furuichi woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE. FINISHED. COMPLETED. MY GOD.   
> This chapter took goddamn FOREVER to do ;_; So I'm really hoping it's alright.  
> Not sure what I'll write next, but I'm guessing something will come to me.... 
> 
> Everything is also on my Tumblr if you prefer to read it over there!

The call comes in at four am in the morning, when it’s still dark and only a sliver of light is showing.

It sends the house into a frenzy. Honoka kicks off her covers with a protest and chases after Mr and Mrs Furuichi, both scrambling to grab their coats, their shoes, their keys, have you seen my phone? What, no I haven’t, grab Furuichi’s coat, come on come on, call Tatsumi-kun already-

 

Misaki flies up the stairs and slams Oga’s door open with a bang, shocking Oga and Beel awake with a groan. Oga rolls away from her and mutters groggily, scrunching his face.

The next few words catapult him from the bed.

_“Get up, lazy ass! Furuichi’s awake!”_

Oga nearly forgets to put on some pants before he’s out the door, a confused Beel in his arms, Hilda and Misaki sprinting behind him.

_He’s awake, he’s awake, Furuichi’s awake, this means, this means he’s come back, he’s come back to us._

_He’s come back to me._

They reach the hospital by sunrise.

-

Oga hangs back, sitting in a plastic seat and watching with tired, but focused eyes. The first light of dawn illuminates the room, casting long shadows on the worried figures milling around the bed, but bathing the person in the middle in soft light.

It’s weird to see him sitting upright, limbs loosely folded over his stomach, gaze turned towards one of them, for once. But from what he can see, Furuichi isn’t doing much. Just, staring listlessly at Honoka with glazed eyes. It’s worrying, but that feeling is shoved aside when a tiny smile emerges on Furuichi’s still too pale face. Oga clenches his fists in his shirt but keeps silent. Now is not the time.

There’s still some waiting to do.

-

Furuichi enters the waking world in spurts and they limit it to family first, friends later. All the flowers are taken away and replaced with small items of Furuichi’s daily life, building a tiny castle of memories around him. It’s disconcerting at first, seeing him squirm uncomfortably every time he wakes up and doesn’t recognize the things around him, questions where he is and who he is and who  _they_ were…. The first few days are the hardest on everyone because Furuichi looks at them as if he was observing a tiny line of ants marching across the floor. Oga’s not sure how he feels about this, being so invisible when Furuichi’s eyes pierce right through him.

-

When Furuichi struggles to move around again in his stiff body, Oga is never the first person he asks for help. In a class room full of friends, he’s the last person he greets with a smile. It takes nearly a whole week for Furuichi to remember his first name.

And yet he’s still the only person Furuichi flinched away from the first time they meet again, yanking his sleeves over his knuckles, covering his arms, turning his face away with a grimace before quickly backtracking with a quick laugh and an apology.

His fingertips grow numb.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing that Furuichi woke up.

-

It’s finally the two of them, after all the chaos and tears and heartfelt hugs have died down. The two of them, alone in Furuichi’s room, with a huge distance between them that Oga doesn’t want to cross. Furuichi lies on his side on his bed, elevated in the smooth sunlight. He glances down at the floor. This wasn’t what he imagined it to be. It hadn’t snapped back to normal, to everything before. There was a consistent throb in the back of his mind, pulsing every time he found himself looking towards Furuichi’s arms. He thinks about the words he overheard that one night and the papery skin underneath his hands.

The lines between the floor panels remind him of the ones criss-crossing Furuichi’s body, and he knows they’re only there because of him.

-

Furuichi delves into his bed, inhaling the fresh detergent smell and clutching his pillow.  _Finally,_  he thinks as he snuggles into the sheets, squirming against the softness of his shirt.  _My own clothes, my own bed…My god have I missed this._

Furuichi lets out a deep sigh before turning towards his window. It’s a strange sight. Thick, white clouds drift lazily across the wide blue and only the sound of the soft breeze can be heard. His family reluctantly left him up in the bedroom, since Honoka had her soccer game finals and his parents’ rushed out to buy enough food to hold a week long feast, celebrating his return. He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, before turning slowly and facing the other side of his room.

Oga sits cross legged on the floor, back against the wall. Hilda took Beel downstairs, when he fell asleep in the early afternoon and so far he hasn’t heard much of them. Furuichi observes Oga as he massages a knot out in his shoulder, taking notice of the slack in his shoulders and heavy circles underneath his eyes. He’s missing his trademark glare, glancing to the side and resting his chin on his knee. It’s almost worrying how even after a good week after he first woke up that Oga has barely spoken to him. In fact, he can’t even recall a moment when they even made direct  _eye contact,_  for God’s sake.

Spending three months away from everything had been both a curse and a blessing. A curse, well, sharing any space with  _Jabberwock_  was bound to be a curse in and out of itself. A blessing? A blessing in the form of giving him space just to be able to breathe and think clearly for once and most importantly, to think for himself and get his own personal priorities and shit sorted out. His newly whole heart gives a thump as he shifts to face Oga head on, steadfastly ignoring the ache and pull in his legs.

“Hey, Oga.”

Oga’s head jerks up suddenly, before his eyes quickly dart to the side.

“…Ah. What is it?”

“You know, you haven’t really said anything to me for the past week.” Furuichi twists his body and lets his legs hang over the edge of the bed, leaning slightly to his right. Oga visibly flinches and starts twisting his fist around the hem of his shirt.

“…Sorry.”

Furuichi stares back. Hard. Did, did he really just hear that word out of Oga’s own damn mouth with his own damn ears? Furuichi closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.  _Am I hallucinating?_ He peeks one eye at Oga, still fidgeting in his seat and downright refusing to look anywhere near Furuichi’s face.  _…Nope._

“Dumbass, what the hell you saying sorry for? Get up here!” Furuichi hastily smacks bed, huffing in annoyance when Oga finally moves. He cautiously eases unto the bed, fidgeting and still refusing to look at Furuichi. It takes almost all his restraint to not plant his foot in Oga’s face and he ends up smacking a palm to his own face.

“Look. You. Augh, you don’t have to apologize, okay?” He can almost feel the air around Oga freeze as he jolts upright at his words. He tries again. “It, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. I know it took a while for me to get back, but I’m here now, alright?”

He awkwardly places one hand on Oga’s bowed head, gently ruffling his hair and hoping to relax him. But he stiffens instead when Oga slowly raises his own hand to grasp Furuichi’s. Oga’s hand nearly dwarfs his, and the natural glow of his skin contrasts harshly with his own, the heat of it hanging like a tight handcuff around his wrist. The touch sends a shock straight to his heart and he lets out a feeble gasp when he feels it dash underneath his skin.

Oga speaks first.

“I overheard Misaki and Ma talk about something Honoka said.”

Furuichi nearly jerks back his hand but he restrains himself at the last second, his hand trembling from the effort. Oga shifts his head and slides his eyes over to gaze at Furuichi’s stomach, hidden by his huge shirt.

“They found some stuff around the house, and in your room. Bandages and stuff. Painkillers, a lot of painkillers and medications, all different types in your room. Other shit too.”

Furuichi’s whole body seizes, a swirling panic surging upwards within him. This time he pulls his hand back so hard it slaps him in the chest.

For the first time in a week, Oga finally meets his gaze, his wavering eyes searching for an answer as he leans forward, one arm reaching around Furuichi’s waist and closing in cautiously.

“Furuichi.” His other arm reaching around the other side, effectively caging Furuichi in and forcing him to remain in front of Oga.

“Why?”

At that word, the flood gates in his head buckled. Why? _Why?_ Was Oga really asking that stupid of a question?

He laughed nervously, turning away and crowding closer to his headboard. “No, no reason. It’s nothing. Just forget it.”

“You can’t expect me to just fo-“

“I said  _forget it._ It’s not what you think, okay? _”_

The gates thumped violently at the lie, creaking and straining under the pressure as his bit into his bottom lip, drawing the first hints of blood. Why? In a damn life where his position as the outcast among outcasts was constantly highlighted in the most humiliating ways possible, where not even powering through hallucinations and voluntarily pumping poison into his body would stop the mockery of his own name, where the only place for him was carved out by demons not even in this very dimension? Furuichi bit harder, blood starting to drip from his lip as he ignored the concerned noise from Oga.

And the stupid ass had the goddamn balls to ask  _why?_ A familiar flow of heat begins to rise in his body as his back begins to itch, the pounding in his head growing ferociously.

 _Garbage_. That was his entire existence summed into one word. The gates in his head finally cave and everything rushes out, drowning his mind, suffocating his thoughts. Heat bubbles at his back as he flips through all the shit he went through just to consider himself worthy to even stand next to the feet of giants.

And all that hardship? His reward? His own beating heart ripped out and manhandled before Oga, served like a common slab of meat to his own enemies and spat out like chewed tobacco.

And they dare to question him, to ask  _why._

Furuichi pushes against Oga so hard he nearly falls off the bed, only twisting around just in time so that he flails unto his side with a “What the he-“ before freezing, staring up at Furuichi, marvelling at the first shadows of huge wings flash against the white walls above Furuichi’s heaving body.

He latches a hand to his chest, digging in his nails and feeling his once severed heart pump underneath his ribs. Furuichi remains unaware of the words spilling from his mouth as it twists into a furnace, glowing inside of him.

“Are you seriously asking me that question?!”

_Even my own heart is nothing but something to be served and consumed and ultimately rejected_

He hits his knees and drags himself over Oga’s prone body as a low howl develops in the room, the silhouettes of his wings flashing darker and stretching across the ceiling like claws. His teeth are clenched so hard and tears are forming in his eyes, wide and watery, drowning in Oga’s shocked ones.

“Why, why? You’re only asking this now?”

He sat back just a little, yanking his shirt up in one swift move, ignoring the prickling sensation under his skin. Furuichi hovered over Oga, making no move to wipe away the salty tears blurring his vision, deftly refusing to cover the pattern of raised, crisscrossed scars - some white, some pink and red, staining his skin. He tries to ignore Oga’s darting gaze across his body, each flicker like a lick of fire, as his thoughts are almost retched out.

“If I do this, then I can stop feeling. I can  _make_ myself stop feeling and start thinking. I  _myself_  can finally control how I think and I can think sharp and strong and right when I finally cut through the shit in my head and  _I can finally forget about Takayuki.”_

Furuichi’s breath hitches as the tears finally roll down his face. He throws himself forward, yanking Oga by his shirt collar up to his face, ignoring the strained yelp and the hands that are suddenly wrapped around his wrists, ignoring Oga’s bony knees pressing up against his stomach. His next words come out with a desperate whisper, crumbling to pieces when his mind takes in Oga’s gaping mouth and huge eyes.

“I can feel. Trash isn’t trash if it can feel, right? Garbage isn’t garbage if it’s useful, right?”

_No one wants a General that can’t do their job._

“No.”

_…No?_

He doesn’t even have time to catch his breath before Oga suddenly sits upright, knocking both of their heads together. Furuichi rolls back with a hiss, clutching his forehead, barely managing a “What the he-“ before his shoulders are pinned flat against the bed, vision spinning before he finally focuses on Oga’s pained expression hovering over him. His hands scramble, clutching unto Oga’s shirt sleeves and marvelling at the intense shaking in his arms.

“Don’t say that.”

Furuichi gazes defiantly back up at him, the shaking intensifying, only snapping out of their deadlock when he feels something heavy and warm settle against his stomach. He peers down in shock, looking at Oga’s hand stretched across. Oga’s voice cracks and something in Furuichi’s heart twists, his back twitching. He’d only ever heard that voice as loud and clear, completely unwavering in whatever emotion it tried to convey.

“None of that’s true! You’re needed-”

A bitter laugh slips out, fingers pulling at his shirt. Furuichi can hardly believe what he hears, eyes widening as a grin stretches across his face. It took him that long, it took him this long, to get even one of them to even think that he wasn’t garbage? That he wasn’t a good for nothing, pile of shit? Three months total absence, his soul ripped out and devoured, unending humiliation, years of patience. The laugh uncoils as he curves off the bed, throwing Oga off in the process.

His wings unfurl, large and delicate, pushing against the confines of his room and knocking over papers, books, his chair as Oga stumbles out of his way. Swirling, glowing patterns make their way up his neck as he carefully listens to the sounds around him. Thumping noises race upwards and he can hear brief shouting between Hilda and Oga, before the door bangs shut with a curse. His wings pulse weakly as he attempts to make his way around the room, but their large size keeps him shoved awkwardly against his bed and instead, they shift inward to create a wall of thorns around him. Furuichi slumps. He knows from past experiences that no demon can part through the feathers, least they walk away dripping in their own blood with burns and cuts all over their body. The feathers shimmy and pull in tighter until his vision is almost entirely white, cocooned within a ball of smouldering heat.

But that comfort is torn apart when a grasping hand bursts through his wall. Furuichi chokes out a gasp, hand automatically flying up to catch it by the wrist. Already there are steaming splatters of blood on his wings and almost immediately a second hand slips through the gap, pushing at his wings, ignoring the slow burn of skin. Furuichi hiccups and shoves a foot against Oga’s approaching body, one eye focusing on the growing tattoo and desperately kicking out.

“Get away fro-“ “Shut  _up!_ ”

With that, both hands fly back, wrap around the edges of his wings and _push,_ forcing the ring to snap open. Oga is a sight to see – demon tattoo wrapping around his neck, chest heaving, blood and burns on his arms and chest, eyes distraught. He can hear Beel screaming somewhere to his left, Hilda yelling at someone, saying something, telling them to hurry up!

Furuichi squeezes his eyes shut and raises one arm before him when Oga almost instantly flies forward, preparing for a vicious punch to his head. This was it. His final fight and still forever the loser. Hecadoth and Agiel’s efforts useless. Furuichi Takayuki, still useless.

Oga snatches his raised arm, yanking it forward and he braces for impact, eyes tightly closed, teeth clenched, everywhere tense.

_Huh. I guess this is it._

Then his eyes snap open, wide and watery.

Of all things that could’ve happened, he never expects the gentle kiss to his arm.

Several things happen at once. Furuichi lets out an embarrassingly high screech when he sees Oga so close, the mother of all blushes exploding on his face. His wings slam against the floor so hard the lights in his room flicker. Someone else bursts through his bedroom door, making Furuichi scream  _again_ before one wing shoots out and forces the door shut. He shoves his other hand against Oga’s face, fingers sticking up his nose and poking his eye, but Oga still refuses to budge, that  _bastard_.

“Y-y-you, wh-what, oh my god, what are you  _doing?!”_ A tiny voice in the back of his head gleefully reminds him of how much a distressed damsel he currently sounds like, but all Furuchi sees is Oga, Mad Dog Oga, Child Rearing Badass Oga, Bat Shit Crazy Supposed Best Friend Of Mine Oga, kissing the scars on his arm, taking his sweet time to reach up to his palm, probably enjoying Furuichi’s earth-shattering, mind blowing, horrendously unsettling shock, that dick! And he keeps  _looking at him!_

Oga’s voice sounds distant and off, but his words still reach.

“I  _know_  it’s my fault. I’m sorry, because you got the worst of everything, and I didn’t.”

Furuichi flinches when warm arms are wrapped around him.  _A, a…hug?_ He can barely remember the last time someone touched him without some ulterior motive. He can barely remember any moment at all when Oga’s touch wasn’t meant to hurt.

“Idiot Furuichi, I’ll only say it once so you better remember!” The grip tightens and Furuichi holds his breath as his chest is pressed flush against Oga’s, feeling his heart thrum like crazy, mind working furiously to keep up.

“You, you’re important, okay? And I, I need you. And not because of the stinkin’ Soloman Company or any of that shit!”

“You’re my best friend! …But I’m also yours, right? So, stop doing all this shit on your own, otherwise I’m the useless one, not you. I’m gonna, you know, be here for you. And stuff.” His voice squeaks pitifully at the last sentence, squishing his face into Furuichi’s shoulder.

Furuichi promptly bursts in a mass of blubbering tears, forcing Oga to quickly pull back and panic to avoid the weak slaps from his flailing hands. “You  _ass!_ Why didn’t you say any of this shit sooner! Idiot! Dumbass! Moron!” They stream down his face as he yells at Oga with wet hiccups, alternating between shaking him by the shoulders and wiping uselessly at his face.

“Now I’m all snotty and gross and unattractive and  _ugh this is your entire fault!”_

“What does that have to do with me?!”

“ _Don’t look at me, I’m hideous!”_ Oga rebelliously stares at him and holds both of Furuichi’s hands, tracing circles on the back with his thumbs, leaning in closer and pressing his forehead against Furuichi’s.

“Seriously _…_ ” he said as he swallowed a mouthful of precious air. “How the fuck is this my life?” Oga held back a laugh and pinched Furuichi’s puffy face, who stuck his tongue out in protest. “You seriously asking me, of all people, that question? Idioooot. Not even I, the super attractive and most generous high school student of Ishiyama, can answer that.”

And that’s how Hilda and Lamia found the two after they finally burst through the door - rolling around in a trashed room with feathers everywhere, Furuichi pulling at Oga’s cheeks, Oga pulling at Furuichi’s hair, both of them yelling their lungs out at each other amidst bouts of hysterical laughter.

_Fuck you! As if I would ever do that!_

_Don’t be an idiot, I’m here for you! You can never escape me! Muahahah-_

_Oh get out already, you shithead._


End file.
